


A Day In the Life

by CawCawMF



Series: I See You [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Molly, Doctor Who References, Drugged Sherlock, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, References to Supernatural (TV), Romance, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1518749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CawCawMF/pseuds/CawCawMF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day in the life of Molly Hooper as she dates Sherlock Holmes. This is the not-so-sequel to follow I See You. It's really more of a collection of one-shots. There's humor, fluff, angst, romance, but most of all, there's Sherlock and Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet?

**Author's Note:**

> Some may have read this on my account of FF. I don't get on there much anymore, so I thought I'd put everything on here as well. I hope you enjoy!

At precisely 9:35, she received a bouquet of orange Gerber daisies. Not roses, daisies. Her favorite. She knew it was him, it had to be. She could hardly hide her surprise as she accepted them from the delivery boy. In fact, at first, she told the boy he had made a mistake and come to the wrong room. Then she had explained, yes, she was Molly Hooper. The boy handed them to her with an amused smile after that. "He said you'd act like that."

Molly set them on her desk, a goofy smile on her face. She searched through the flowers for a note, but found none.

"Molly, do you think - oh, are those from Sherlock?" Mary asked as she walked into the morgue.

"Well, there wasn't a note, but I assume so. They're my favorite. I've never told anyone that," she replied, a far off gleam in her eye when she finished.

"Well, isn't that nice of him. Looks like he finally did something right."

Molly smiled again, then paled. "Or something wrong," she corrected. Her mind went wild with the possibilities. "Oh my god, what if he set the flat on fire again?-"

"Again?"

"-Or what if he broke my mother's vase? I told him to be careful with that!"

"Molly-"

"Oh no...what if-Mary, what if he's changed his mind? What if this is his way of letting me down easy?"

"What?" Mary looked at her like she was insane. "Molly, why on earth would you think that? Any fool can see he's crazy about you, and I didn't even think that was possible when I first met him."

"Mary you don't understand. Sherlock doesn't do this. He doesn't send flowers. He doesn't do sweet, unless he's done something wrong or he's trying to apologize."

"Molly, he may not do that normally, but I'm sure he can pull his head out of his arse long enough to follow standard social practices."

Molly laughed somewhat, then calmed a bit. "I suppose you're right. I'm being silly, really, getting all worked up over some flowers."

"I understand you're confusion. Sherlock's a right strange bloke," Mary joked. "And the two of you just moved in together a few months ago. But Molly, he chose you. Think about that. Out of every woman he ever met, he never even felt anything until you."

Molly perked up a bit more at that. "The flowers really are lovely."

Mary just rolled her eyes. "Trust you to ignore what I just said and talk about the flowers. Anyway, I came to ask if we could cancel our lunch plans. John wants to take me out for lunch today. I hope that's alright," she said anxiously.

Molly smiled brightly, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Of course that's fine! You go have fun, you deserve it. And tell John I said hello, would you?"

"Oh thank you, Molly. I will," Mary beamed, then promptly flitted out of the morgue doors. Molly felt the smile fall off her face as soon as the door closed. Of course she was happy for her friends, and of course she was happy with her relationship, but sometimes...she caught sight of the daisies and her smile quickly returned. It wasn't lunch out, but it was a start.

Exactly five minutes before her lunch break, another delivery boy arrived, carrying with him her favorite meal from her favorite chinese restaurant. She and Sherlock ordered out there quite often, as she rarely liked to cook and he...well he was rather useless in the kitchen.

Molly normally brought her lunch and ate it down in the morgue. She disliked the canteen food and only ate it on desperate occasions. She smiled at the gesture. She wondered if he would be joining her, but she supposed if he was, he would have delivered the meal himself. Still, it was sweet.

Then, exactly ten minutes before her lunch break ended, there was a knock on the door.

"Delivery for a Doctor Hooper."

What now?

"Yes, that's me," Molly replied, walking over to the man.

"Here you go," he said, handed her a small package. He walked out quickly after that, but she didn't notice as she examined the parcel. It was about the size of a brick, but rather light. She opened it up cautiously, but started laughing once she found what was inside.

Inside was a giant, Hershey Kiss encased in a plastic box. Again, as with the flowers, she searched the box and the packaging for a note, but come up empty.

"Ugh, Sherlock! What are you up to?"

At 4:30, Mary came in again.

"I was given strict instructions to come in at this time and give you this."

She thrust her hands toward Molly. The pathologist looked down and laughed at the sight before her. In the young nurse's hands was a small, plush teddy bear. She took him gently, noticing how soft he was.

"You thought he couldn't be sweet. You've gotten flowers and a bear," Mary taunted.

"And lunch and chocolate," Molly admitted smugly.

"What? When did this happen?"

Molly giggled happily. "On my lunch break. He sent my favorite meal from that chinese place we eat at all the time. Then just before it was over, I got a giant chocolate kiss."

"Well damn, you're boyfriend's doing better than mine," Mary grumbled, but Molly could hear her teasing tone.

"I can't say I'm not surprised, but it's a good one."

At 6:15, Molly unlocked the door to 221B Baker street with extreme haste. She couldn't wait to see Sherlock. After everything he had done today...well, let's just say he would be getting a very R-rated thank you.

However, when she opened the door, she didn't see him as she expected.

"Sherlock?"

There was only silence. She took off her shoes and hung her coat up as usual. There was no case, or John would be with him, so he should be home. There was suddenly a loud clang in the kitchen followed by a deep, "Damnit!"

She rushed in the direction if the noise and was met with quite a sight. Standing beside the stove, armed with a ladle and speckled in marinara sauce was her boyfriend, and he was glaring at a pot of noodles as if they were the spawn of the devil.

"Sherlock?"

At the sound of her voice, he broke the staring contest with the noodles and looked up at her, his eyes wide.

"M-molly. What are you doing home so early?" he stuttered, his voice squeaking adorably. Molly smiled slightly.

"It's 6:15. I always get home at this time," she answered slowly. He blinked.

"Right, of course."

She didn't respond and he just looked over to the cabinet, not explaining his current situation or making any attempt to fix it. After a few minutes, Molly grew too amused.

"Sherlock?" She was unable to hide her smile now.

"Hm?" He looked back to her.

"Do you mind telling me exactly what's going on here?"

"Oh, that. Well, you see, I, um, I'm working on a case. A man was killed while fixing his dinner. I thought it best to recreate the scene."

Molly swallowed her giggles. "And did the man give his pasta a death stare?" she asked with a straight face.

Sherlock looked at her confidently as if he was about to answer her with an affirmative, but then she raised her eyebrow and his face fell.

"I was trying to make spaghetti for you," he confessed. Her amusement dissolved immediately as her heart melted.

"Sherlock-"

"It's not as easy as they make it seem! First the water takes too long to boil -"

"Sherlock," Molly tried again, walking over and turning off the stove.

"And then the pasta doesn't cook thoroughly-"

"Sherlock." She hopped up on the counter directly in front of him as he continued to rant.

"And don't get me started on the sauce. If the stove is on too high it starts popping everywhere and hits you-"

"Sherlock!"

He stopped talking suddenly and he looked at her.

"It's okay," she said with a soft smile. He returned her smile before moving to stand between her legs and leaning down to steal a brief kiss.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. He really could be so sweet sometimes. She had a sudden idea, and she steeled herself for it.

"Thank you. Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

He looked up, his face somewhat dismayed. "I know, I'm sorry. We can order in, or if you want I can take you out. I'm sure we can still get reservat-"

"Sherlock."

"What, Molly?" His tone was a bit exasperated, probably a combination of frustration at himself for letting her down and then being interrupted. His thoughts flew out the window, though, with what she did next.

Suddenly, she gripped his shirt in her fist and leaned up to whisper in his ear.

"I'm not hungry for food, Sherlock."

Sherlock swallowed. "Well then, let's have dinner," he whispered huskily before smashing his lips against hers. She promptly wrapped her legs around his waist as he lifted her from the counter. As he was carrying her to the bedroom, he pulled away from her mouth long enough to say one thing.

"Molly?"

"Mm?"

"Happy Valentine's Day."


	2. First Fight

"Thanks again for your help, Sherlock."

"Yes, yes. Just don't give me anymore cuff links, please," Sherlock droned, but with a slight smirk. Lestrade just laughed, turning back to his paperwork. The consulting detective and his blogger took this as their cue to leave.

"Ugh, I can't wait to get home to Mary. She's been beside herself with worry every time I called her."

Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean every time you called her? Why would you call her while you were working on a case? Surely that would just be a distraction."

John threw him an exasperated look. "Sherlock, I call her everyday to let her know I'm alright. You know, to let her know I'm alive, so she's not sitting up worried that some psycho killer that we're hunting down has offed me."

Sherlock suddenly paled, and John stopped win his tracks. "Hang on, do you mean to tell me that in the week and half that we've been tracking down this serial killer, you haven't phoned Molly once?"

Sherlock didn't meet John's eyes.

"Oh, you're dead. Honestly, I'd kill you myself if I didn't think Molly was going to. You're a right bastard for doing that."

He suddenly looked up in what could only be described as panic. "Surely she'll understand, John. Won't she? I mean, I didn't think she would...I don't think about things like that.."

"Sherlock, think about it this way, if Molly was hunting down a serial killer-"

"Irrelevant. Molly would never do such a thing."

"It's a hypothetical situation, you git."

Sherlock bristled slightly, but acquiesced nonetheless.

"Now, let's say she was hunting down a serial killer for for a week and a half and never called or contacted you, leaving you to think she could possibly be injured or dead. Meanwhile you were sitting here powerless to do anything about it except to sit and wait for a call or an obituary. How would that make you feel?"

Sherlock pictured it. Molly disappearing, knowing she was definitely in danger, never hearing from her...he felt his heart drop at the thought. Without another word, he took off down the hall at high speed.

*********************************

Molly sat on her couch, Toby in her lap. He purred lightly as she stroked him, and she smiled. However, it was a watery smile, tears streaming down her face. She felt a bit disgusted with herself, really. How many tears had she wasted on the consulting detective?

Oh, she knew he was just fine. Mary, John's fiancée and her friend, had been kind enough to keep her informed of John's updates. It was only her pleading that kept Mary from telling John that Sherlock had yet to contact Molly. Secretly, Molly had been holding onto hope that he would give her a call or a text on his own. But no. According to Mary, they were coming home today. He never called once.

She had hoped that after all the progress they had made, after everything he had said, things would be different. But now she felt all her old insecurities creeping in. Maybe she didn't count. Maybe, at the end of the day, the work was the most important thing. Maybe-

Her thoughts were cut off by a knock on the door. She was thankful she still had a few more months on the lease for her apartment. She was also thankful he didn't have a key. She ignored the knocking, not ready to face him yet. The knocking continued, however, growing into a rapid pace until he was pounding. She closed her eyes, more tears streaming down as she did.

"Molly, let me in."

She stayed silent, hoping he would go away. She was suddenly glad she had been acting depressed, leaving the lights and telly off.

"Molly, I know you're in there. There are fresh prints from your favorite sandals leading up the stairs."

Bloody bastard.

"Go away, Sherlock," she croaked. She groaned internally at the sound of her own voice, hoarse from days of crying.

"Molly, please. I need to talk to you."

"Well I don't want to talk to you."

She felt a sense of deja vu, remembering the last time he stood outside her door, begging for entry. That night, he told her how he fell in love with her. Now she wondered if it was all a lie. She certainly felt like it, considering how the past several days had gone. He couldn't really love her if he just went gallivanting off the first time an interesting case came along, forgetting about her completely. And he certainly couldn't love her if he wouldn't even let her know he was alright. Did he not even care that she was driving herself crazy with worry?

"Molly, I know you're upset with me-"

"That's an understatement," she growled, now walking to the door. She had no intention of opening it, but she found herself being drawn to the sound of his voice. She hated it.

"If you would just let me explain-"

"Explain what, Sherlock?" she said, suddenly yelling at the door. "Explain how you couldn't spare five seconds to send a two word text that says 'I'm alive?' Explain how Mary was my only source of news because John would talk to her every single day? Or how about how I watched the news like a hawk because I was terrified each day that today would be the day I found out you died, but of course I had no way of knowing what was going on on, did I?"

"Molly," he spoke, his voice slightly hoarse. "I-"

"No, Sherlock. I can't do it. Not if it's going to be like this."

Silence, then- "What-Molly, what do you mean? Look, I promise I'll do better, I will. I'll text you twice a day, or call you, please-"

Molly let out a sob. "It's not even about that, Sherlock."

"What are you talking about, then?"

"I understand your work comes first, Sherlock. I knew that from the beginning. I thought I could handle it, but I can't anymore. I just can't do it."

"What? Is that what you think? Molly, open this door right now!" he bellowed, banging on the door hard enough to shake the frame. She let out another sob.

"Sherlock, please, just go away."

"Molly, if you don't open the door I'll just pick the lock."

She would have laughed at his threat if she wasn't crying so hard.

"You have the regular lock, the deadbolt will take you half an hour, then you'll have to get past both the chains," she replied mechanically, feeling numb.

"Molly, please."

"Just go," she whispered, and she wondered if he could hear her because after that she heard his footsteps receding down the hallway. She only felt worse. Yes, she had asked him to leave, but that he had given up on her so easily made her lean against the wall and crumple down to the floor, her sobs taking control of her body.

She didn't know how long it had been, but suddenly, she heard a thump come from her bedroom. Now terrified and alert, Molly grabbed the nearest thing to a weapon at hand, and made her way toward the noise. She heard footsteps in the room, and she wished she hadn't sent Sherlock away so soon. She threw the door open and-

"Please don't tell me that in the event of a home invasion your plan is to attack to intruder with an umbrella," came the deep baritone.

"Get out of my flat," she barked, dropping the umbrella with a flush, but pointing to the front door nonetheless.

His eyes narrowed sadly as he looked at her. "You've been crying. A lot."

She clenched her jaw to keep more tears from pooling in her eyes. "Get out, " she repeated.

"Molly, you've got to listen-"

"GET OUT!"

Then, without any warning, she felt herself wrapped in his arms. She thrashed about furiously to get free, but his tall frame held her tightly. She continued to fight for several minutes before, finally, she was sobbing as she pounded weakly against his chest.

"Why won't you just leave me alone?" she asked pathetically.

"Because I love you," he answered simply.

"No you don't. Stop saying that and just go back to your stupid cases," she mumbled. He gripped her chin and tilted it up, forcing him to look into his eyes.

"Molly, I can't talk to you when I'm on cases because you distract me - no let me finish. You're a good distraction, you always are, but a distraction nonetheless. And I can't do the work if I'm talking to you, because I know if I start I'll want to keep talking to you. But that does not mean that I'm not thinking of you. I think of you every second. In fact, that's the very reason I can't talk to you. I was working as hard as I could to get that case done as quickly as possible so I could get back home to you. You can even ask John. I've never put so much effort into a case."

Molly stared up at him with wide eyes, daring herself to believe him.

"As for you worrying about me, I'm genuinely sorry about that. That honestly never crossed my mind. I'm not used to this. I've never been away from you this long before and it never occurred to me that you would be worried. John put the situation into perspective for me by asking how I would feel if the situation were reversed and...Molly, I'm so sorry I caused you that pain."

How could she have been so stupid? This was Sherlock! Of course he wasn't going to think about things like a normal human being.

"But Molly, don't ever again doubt for one second that I love you. Do you hear me?"

Molly didn't answer him verbally, but instead with a heated kiss. He found it quite preferrable.


	3. Under the Influence

The second the arrived home from work at precisely 6:00 (she left a bit early to surprise Sherlock), she knew something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was just...off. It was too, quiet.

"Sherlock?" she asked cautiously, looking around the room for signs of a struggle, or perhaps an experiment gone awry.

"In here," came the grumbled reply. His voice sounded wrong, muted in a way. She walked in the direction of it and found him laid out on the couch, still in his dressing robe.

"Sherlock, how long have you been your 'mind palace' today?" she joked.

"I haven't," he retorted, with a half-hearted glare, and she noticed his eyes were bloodshot. She also noticed that he was surrounded by tissues.

"Sherlock, are you...sick?"

"Well spotted, Doctor Hooper. I see your years of training have served you well," he hissed, dropping his head back to the cushion and closing his eyes. Molly swallowed her flash of anger, remembering that he didn't feel well, and placed her hand against his forehead to check his temperature. Suddenly his hand shot out to grip her wrist.

"Your hand is cold from the air outside. Leave it there for a moment. Please," he at least remembered to tack on at the end. She accommodated his request, sitting on the edge of the sofa beside him.

"Did you wake up like this?" she asked softly, knowing he most likely had a headache. She absent-mindedly started running her fingers through his hair with her free hand.

"Hmm," he hummed positively, and as she realized what her hand was doing, she switched to massage his scalp. He practically purred in approval.

"How were you feeling yesterday?"

"Fine," he responded automatically. Her hand stopped, and his eyes snapped open.

"Why'd you-"

"You don't just get get sick overnight. You had to feel something yesterday," she said sternly. When he glared at her defiantly, she gave him a raised brow, effectively making him crumple.

"I may have had a sore throat."

She continued her previous ministrations, but said with an admonishing tone, "Sherlock, why didn't you tell me? We could have taken care of this before it got to this point."

"I'm sorry," he replied. It was a testament to how horrible he truly felt that he actually apologized. She sighed heavily, removing both hands as she stood.

"No, don't leave," he pleaded, his voice as panicked as his eyes, and she laughed lightly.

"Sherlock, I'm just popping over to Tesco to get you some cough medicine. And maybe some chamomile tea to help you sleep."

The panic left his eyes, but his face dropped into a pout. "Okay, but hurry back. And be careful."

Molly smiled at him fondly before heading out the door.

"Molly, is that you?"

Molly took her coat off at the door, then lugged the Tesco bags into the living room.

"No, it's Santa."

"The sarcasm is not appreciated, Molly."

She put the bags down as she sat beside him. She pulled out some pills and a bottle of water. "Here, take two of these, well maybe three in your case, while I go make you some tea," she instructed. She stroked his cheek gently before moving to leave, but again he grabbed her wrist. This time however, his features were soft as he looked up at her.

"Thank you," he said roughly.

She gave him a small smile and leaned down to lay a light kiss on his forehead. Then she made her way to the kitchen.

Five minutes later, while she was waiting on the water to boil, her phone chime.

"Hey John, what's up?"

"Hey, I was just calling to check on Sherlock."

"Oh, did he call and hound you earlier?" Molly teased.

"Ha, yeah. I see you've seen the state his in, then?"

"Oh, yes. Just got back from Tesco. I'm making him some tea now and I've already given him some Benadryl," she replied, shifting the phone on her shoulder as she steeped the tea.

"Wait, you what?"

Molly suddenly felt like she was channeling Sherlock as she felt annoyed having to repeat herself. "Well, I'm making tea and I gave him-"

"You gave him BENADRYL?"

"Yeah, so?" Molly asked, not seeing the problem.

"Oh dear Lord. Well, good luck to you."

"What? John, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Let's just say that Sherlock and Benadryl don't exactly react well together. He tends to get a bit...loopy."

"Loopy?"

"Yes, loopy."

"So you're telling me my boyfriend's going to be acting like a frat boy?"

"Basically, yes. Like I said, good luck to you."

"Thanks, John."

She hung up the phone quickly, and poured the tea. She walked back into the living room, praying that the tea would knock him out until the effects of the medicine wore off.

"Molly?"

"I'm right here, Sherlock." She sat on the edge again, and handed him the tea, but he just sat it down on the table.

"Sherlock, you should drink your tea."

"I'll drink it later."

"Okay..."

"Sit with me," he commanded, so she humored him.

"I talked to John."

"Oh? He came by earlier. He needs to propose to Mary already. He's never going to get any until he does."

Looks like the medicine has kicked in.

"Is it just me or is it rather blue in here?"

"Blue?" Molly choked back a laugh. "No, Sherlock, I don't think it's blue."

"Ah. I guess it is just me, then. I do like blue. Hmm."

It continued like that for a few hours. At the peak of it all, Sherlock had hallucinated that he had seen a bunny steal one of his slippers.

"It's right there!"

"Sherlock, there's nothing there!"

"Are you blind, woman? Kill it, it's getting away with one of my best slippers."

Molly looked to where he was pointing a random spot on the floor, picked up a rolled newspaper, and swated the spot. As she looked up at him, she was relieved to see the pleased look on his face.

Thankfully, after that, the hallucinations ceased, and his comments became less frequent. It seemed the medicine was finally starting to wear off.

"Molly, did I ever tell you how pretty you are?"

"Um, that's really nice, Sherlock."

"No, really. It's the kind of pretty that deserves to be talked about. I'm sorry I don't say that more. I really am an arse."

Molly let out a small giggle before she could stop herself. "It's, uh, it's okay, Sherlock. You don't have to-oof."

He suddenly yanked her down by her shirt sleeves, causing her to land haphazardly on top of him.

"I'm sorry! Are you okay? Here, let me just-"

"No, stay with me," he cut her off, wrapping his arms around her tightly and stopping her from trying to stand.

"Sherlock, you have to let me move. I'm right on top of you," Molly argued weakly, already resting her head against his chest.

"On the contrary, I rather like it when you're on top of me," he smirked, and Molly flushed red. "Though, " he continued. "I really like you any way I can have you, to be honest."

Molly trembled as he ran a finger down her arm.

"Sherlock, you took too much Benadryl."

His finger continued down her side as his other hand played with a lock of her hair.

"You should wear you hair down like this more often. It drives me mad, you know."

He then pushed her hair to the side and attached his lips to her neck.

"Sh-Sherlock, you should really let me up."

He continued his assault, alternating between kisses and bites, causing her to let out soft gasps.

"Now why would I want to do that?" he murmured against her skin.

His hands slowly starting inching her shirt up her torso. His hands felt so good-no, she had to stop him.

"You-your sick, I need to take care of you."

Her shirt was up to her ribs now and his lips were at her collarbone. Oh she wanted to keep going, but surely this wasn't right. She felt like she was taking advantage of him or something.

"You are taking care of me."

"What if I get sick?" she asked as a last ditch attempt.

His motions ceased, and as he looked down at her, for a second, she saw her Sherlock looking back. Then he gave her a grin that turned her insides to mush and ignited her to her core.

"Then I'll just have to take care of you," he whispered, then bit the shell of her ear before removing her top. Molly, however, was lost to him completely. She would later wonder how she had lost control when he was drugged. But then, so was she. She had been under the influence of Sherlock.


	4. I Don't Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once, Sherlock is the one who is confused.

"I still don't understand. Why would a man rush into a building filled with foreign enemies to save people he doesn't even know with no back up? It's suicide!"

"Because, Sherlock, you can't explain some things. Especially emotions. They cloud your judgement when you're in dangerous situations. You should know that after what happened...well, after what happened with Moriarty and all."

Sherlock looked to Molly, and seeing that she looked uncomfortable, grabbed her hand in his.

"You're right. My judgement was severely clouded that night. I didn't even blink when Moriarty asked me to meet him at the pool, I just-"

"Wait, what?" Molly cut him off suddenly as she rose from where she had been laying comfortably in his lap. "You said you stopped by the flat and saw we weren't there. Then you 'deduced' what had happened," she continued accusingly.

Sherlock had the decency to look ashamed. "That's not exactly what happened."

"Then what did happen, Sherlock? He asked you to meet him there and you just went?"

He hesitated. "Something like that, yes. He said to met him there so we could finally settle things. I was hoping to save both you and John from harm."

"So what, it was going to be the Fall all over again, except you would really be dead and he would win? Did you even think that through Sherlock?" She was yelling at this point, pacing in front of him.

"I was trying to save your life!" he roared back, rising from the coach to tower over her, but she no longer feared him.

"My life meant nothing without you. That's why I bloody went there in the first place, you stupid git!"

That brought him up short. With how strong Molly was now, he often forgot how low her confidence in herself was then.

"Damnit, Sherlock. I went there because I thought no one cared about me, I didn't think anyone would miss me, but you...you saw what it did to John to lose you the first time. To make him go through that again would just be cruel and me, I..I couldn't handle it. Not to mention the fact that you would have been the only one able to stop him and you'd be letting him win!"

She sighed deeply, a single tear rolling down her face. He reached over and caught it with his thumb, before cupping her cheek gently in his hand.

"But that didn't happen."

She let out a breath and gripped his shirt in her tiny fists. "I know, I know. Just...don't ever think about doing something like that again, okay? Don't you ever do that to me. Not for real," she whispered.

"Nor you to me," he stipulated just as softly, running a hand through her hair.

"Deal," she murmured, and he could hear the smile in her voice. She leaned up and gave him a slow but passionate kiss, that ended all too quickly if you asked him.

Slowly, he guided them back to their original positions on the couch: him spread out and her curled up against him as they watched the telly.

They turned their attention back to the program and managed to catch the last ten minutes of it. It was typical. Guy saves the day and gets the girl. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"There's one more thing I don't understand," Sherlock said as the credits rolled.

"What now, Sherlock?" Molly tried to sound annoyed, but in truth she was too fond of his questions.

"Why do they always travel in that thing? I mean it's hardly convenient."

"Are you serious right now?" she asked, trying to see if he was joking.

"Come on Molly, a blue police box?"

"Sherlock, it's the Tardis," she replied, as if that explained everything.

"The what?" he asked, his face a mask of confusion.

"The- have you never watched Doctor Who before?"

"No. Now, what's a Tardis?" She was completely shocked. How could you grow up in London and have never watched even an episode of Doctor Who?

"Um, well, it stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space."

"Oh, well that's just not possible."

"Sherlock!"

"What?"

"First of all, it's a show on the telly. Second of all, stop ruining it for me!"


	5. Who is Dean?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock should really watch the telly more often.

Sherlock and John walked down the corridor to the morgue, knowing that Molly and Mary, their respective girlfriends, were eating lunch together as they usually did. Sherlock prided himself on his uncharacteristic idea of surprising them by joining them on their lunch break. It wasn't often he had these sentimental strokes of genius, after , as they reached the doors, he heard something that gave him pause, causing John to stop behind him and listen in as well.

"You can't say you weren't attracted to him."

Sherlock found he was suddenly rather annoyed by Mary. He normally found her quite agreeable. In fact, she was the most agreeable of all of John's girlfriends. However, trying to urge Molly to confess attraction to another man automatically put her at the bottom of his list. Well, maybe not the bottom. That spot was still reserved for Anderson.

"I was not attracted to him."

Sherlock smiled fondly. That's my girl.

"Molly, just admit it. You liked Dean. It's okay. Most women are," Mary laughed gently.

Sherlock growled lowly. Who was Dean? And where did Mary get off thinking she could-

"Well, maybe a bit..." Molly sighed softly.

Sherlock stiffened, and then he saw red. He was going to this Dean, whoever he was, and he was going to kill him. Before he could even move, however, his shoulders were being held firmly. He turned to see John, looking at him cautiously.

"John, don't you even think about stopping me," he hissed lowly, so as not to alert the women in the room.

"Sherlock, calm down. You have no idea what they're even talking about. It could be just idle gossip, okay? Just breathe before you go on a killing spree," John whispered.

Though Sherlock wholeheartedly disagreed, he took a few calming breaths. John was now standing in front of him, the two of them parallel to the doors, John's hands on his shoulders as he breathed in.

"Good, now-"

"But you like Sam," Molly accused suddenly. John froze, his hands gripping Sherlock's shoulders tightly.

Mary only chuckled. "I have absolutely no problem admitting that."

"What?" John roared, already walking toward the doors, when this time he was pulled back.

"What happened to calming down, hmm?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, still keeping his voice low.

"Screw that, I'm gonna kill him."

"Molly, what was that noise?"

In a move that was slightly cartoonish, each man quickly clapped a hand over the other's mouth, then promptly glared at one another before turning back to the door and waiting with bated breath.

"Dunno, must have been an intern or something. They're always making a ruckus," Molly replied, and Sherlock could picture her shrugging her tiny shoulders, biting her plump pink lips...

"Or maybe it was a ghost of one of the dead patients. Ooo..." Mary let out a bad impression of a scary 'ghost' moan.

"Shut up, Mary," Molly laughed fully, and Sherlock reveled in the sweet sound of her voice.

Mary let out a dreamy sigh. "Sam and Dean would rescue us."

John and Sherlock met eyes, both glaring, but not really at each other. These men were dead. They slowly backed away from the doors and rushed back up to the main level. Once there, they plotted. Well, that was at least how Sherlock saw it.

"So, what is out plan of action?"

"Well, we talk to them about it, obviously," John responded. Sherlock's head snapped to his.

"What? What happened to killing this Dean person? Okay, and I suppose we can kill Sam too, though I don't really think Mary is good for you anymore if she is encouraging this kind of-"

"Sherlock, you can't seriously be thinking of killing two poor blokes just because our girlfriends are attracted to them."

"Well, you wanted to," Sherlock said indignantly.

"Well, yeah, at first I did. I was in a jealous rage. But then I thought rationally about it. Which is what you should do."

"I have. She likes him. He can't have her. Therefore he must die. The end." He walked briskly toward the exit.

"Sherlock," John said, his tone a warning. Sherlock turned back around, and his face turned into a pout.

"Fine, I'll talk to her."

At 6:15 on the dot, Molly walked in the door. Sherlock sat on the couch, where he had been the majority of the afternoon, waiting for her.

"Sherlock, are you in here. Oh, there you are. Would you like some tea? I was just going to make some."

She gave him a soft smile as she moved to the kitchen. It disgusted him.

"Why don't you call up your friend and ask him if he wants some tea," Sherlock hissed. Okay, this probably wasn't what John had meant when he told him to talk to her. But really, he should have known Sherlock would have no control over his emotions.

Molly paused midstride and looked at him curiously. He scoffed at her innocent act.

"My...who? Sherlock, what are you talking about?"

"Oh don't pretend you don't know, Molly!" he barked, and he saw her flinch at the anger in his tone. He hadn't directed that anger toward her in a long time. He felt slightly guilty, but then he remembered what they were talking about.

"Sherlock, I really don't know-"

"Dean, Molly. I'm talking about your friend Dean. John and I came to surprise you and Mary at lunch today. We heard everything. I know that you're attracted to him, that you like him. Admit it," he bellowed. She looked frightened for a moment until he saw recognition light her face. Then, to his utter bewilderment, she started laughing. Hard. With tears streaming down her face.

"You actually have the nerve to laugh about this? And you accuse me of being heartless! My God, Molly-"

"Sh-Sherlock, you wonderful, stupid man," she giggled, still doubled over.

"I resent that. And you can't insult me, I'm the one who is angry here! I have the upper hand in this argument."

To his frustration, she only laughed harder at this. He was at a loss. How could he stop her...Within seconds, he had her slung over his shoulder, and her laughter stopped immediately.

"Sherlock, put me down this instant," she yelled as she pounded his back furiously.

"Alright, I just wanted you to stop laughing," he said, and then set her right. He noticed that her shirt had ridden up and he could just see a sliver of her toned, pale stomach until she fixed her clothes, giving him a pointed glare.

"There are nicer ways."

"I don't exactly have to be nice to you, at the moment."

She giggled again and he rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, you don't understand. Sam and Dean aren't real."

He felt his brows furrow in confusion. Confusion was something he didn't like, but something he found he felt often around Molly.

"You're right, I don't understand. Did you and Mary make them up, then?"

"Heavens, I wish. We'd be rich," Molly mused.

"What? I don't...Ah, I see," he replied, truly feeling foolish. He shouldn't have doubted his Molly. Of course she wouldn't stray.

"You do?" she questioned, raising one of those perfect brows.

"They are characters. Most likely on a television show Mary talked you into watching."

She smiled fondly. He knew she loved it when he deduced things. "You're right. They're from a show called Supernatural. She's got me hooked on it."

"Well, I don't know if I feel comfortable with you watching it," he grumbled as he pulled her to him and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She just laughed lightly at his childish actions.

"Oh really? And why is that?"

"Well I don't want you to be attracted to any other man, even if he is a fictional character," he growled and then bit down softly on the tender flesh at her collarbone. She took in a shuddering breath before replying.

"Sherlock, the only reason I like him is because he reminds me of you."

He pulled back suddenly at this.

"Really?"

"He's cold, ruthless, he shuts everyone out so he can focus all his attention on his job."

Sherlock started to pull away, hating this all-too accurate description. However, she grabbed his wrist and held him to her.

"He's got his brother, Sam, who's his best friend and they work together. And then you realize that he's fiercely loyal to those he loves, because he can love. And he does. Not to mention he's bloody sexy," she finished with a light-hearted smile.

Sherlock looked down at her gratefully, wanting to kiss her into oblivion. His Molly, his saving grace. But she wasnt done yet. Suddenly, she pulled him down until her mouth was at his ear.

"Don't worry, I find you much sexier," she whispered, her breath fanning out across his ear and making him shiver. He automatically wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her closer in response.

"In fact," she continued. "Every time I watched the show, all I could think about was coming home and shagging you on every surface of this flat."

Sherlock froze. He could already feel his body responding to her words. He pulled back slightly to look at her face, only to find her eyes hooded and dilated, a seductive smirk playing across her full, pink lips.

"I-"

He stopped and cleared his throat, embarrassed at the high pitch it had taken.

"I think we can manage that," he tried again, his voice more confident this time. Her smirk turned into a devilish grin that had his insides turning into liquid fire. "Should we start in the bedroom?"

"Nah, we've been there plenty. How would you feel about a shower?"

Sherlock gulped.


	6. Fire

"I have to say, this has to be one of the few experiments that I've actually enjoyed helping you with," John said as he handed Sherlock another vial.

"That's only because your high levels of testosterone are thrilled for the chance to see the water reacting explosively with the sodium and the chlorine gas."

John's only reply was to reach over and thump the back of his friend's head.

"Watch it! This is a very dangerous experiment. You're very lucky I have steady hands. If I don't pay close enough attention, this whole room could-"

"SHERLOCK! FIRE!"

Sherlock had, while talking to John and not paying attention, forgotten to put the lid back on the beaker containing chlorine gas and sodium before adding water, causing a huge eruption of fire to burst from the top of it.

"John, get one of those, oh what do you call them?"

"Oh my god, it's the solar system all over again! It's call a fire extinguisher, Sherlock!"

"What it's called is irrelevant. Just get one!"

"How the bloody hell should I know where Molly keeps it? I don't live here anymore, remember?"

"Oh, now you're just being argumentative. I'm sure it's in the same place it was when you were here."

John grumbled and opened up the cupboard under the sink, but found nothing. Meanwhile, the fire had spread from the kitchen table to the countertops.

"John, if you would hurry, please."

"It's not there Sherlock. Just use water."

They quickly grabbed some large bowls, turned on the tap, and started dousing out the flames. Slowly, the flames went down. In all the commotion, neither man heard the door to the flat open, or the footsteps that approached the kitchen.

"What in the bloody hell is going on here?"

Spinning around quickly, too quickly, John and Sherlock accidentally sloshed the contents of their bowls all over an already infuriated Molly. Both men froze as the pathologist wiped water out of her eyes before glaring at them.

"What is going on?" she repeated, her voice deadly calm.

"It was his fault," the two said simultaneously, each pointing at the other. Sherlock took over from there. "I was doing an experiment, but John distracted me and it exploded, causing the kitchen to catch fire."

"I did not distract you, you weren't paying attention, you gi-"

"You know what, I don't even care. John, get home to your girlfriend before I kill you," Molly shot back, not giving them a chance to explain. John obeyed without hesitation, leaving Sherlock alone and terrified.

"And as for you, if you're going to act like a child, then I'm going to treat you like one," she said as she began to walk away. She looked far too calm all of a sudden, and he felt his stomach drop.

He didn't quite understand her words, but he knew that they couldn't be good for him at all. He followed her into the living room as she sat down on the couch, grabbing a novel to read. He sat beside her cautiously.

"What exactly does that mean, Molly?"

"It means you're going to be punished."

For a brief second, he felt his eyes darken in desire at her words, until he realized that she probably didn't mean this in the way he hoped.

"How exactly?"

"You're grounded."

Sherlock stifled a laugh. "Grounded?"

"Yes. You're grounded from the morgue for two weeks. No access unless you have written permission from Greg, and only Greg."

"What?" Sherlock whined. "That's not fair."

"I wasn't done."

Sherlock gulped. "What else?"

"No sex," she replied casually as she turned to the next page in her book.

"You can't be serious!"

"You nearly burned the flat down. You obviously need to learn restraint. What better way to learn?"

Suddenly, Sherlock smirked devilishly. "Oh, I'll follow you're rules, Molly. But I guarantee you'll crack before I do."

Molly finally looked up to him, her eyebrows raised. "Oh really?" she scoffed. "You willing to bet on it?"

Sherlock's smirk only grew. "Certainly."

Molly grinned. "Fine. If I win, you won't do experiments in the flat anymore. Only in the lab at Barts."

Sherlock hesitated but agreed. "Alright, but if I win, you let me pay for your half of the rent."

Molly's jaw dropped. "What? That's ridiculous!"

"Take it or leave it."

"Fine," she grumbled. "You're going to lose anyway."


	7. Upstaged

Sherlock burst through the doors of the morgue, cocky as ever.

"Sherlock, what did I tell you?" Molly began to scold, but stopped when he held up a note.

I have written permission from Scotland Yard's finest. Just then, Greg walked in himself, and much less flamboyantly.

"That actually sounded like a compliment, Sherlock," Greg commented, half smiling.

"Don't flatter yourself. Everyone at the Yard is completely incompetent. You're the only one with even a modicum of common sense."

The smile fell off the Detective Inspector's face immediately. "Yep, knew it was too good to be true."

John, who had just arrived, took a look around and then smacked his friend across the back of his head.

"Ouch. John, what on earth was that for? You just walked in!"

"Yes, but Molly looks cross, so I'm sure you've just said something stupid or callous."

Just as her boyfriend was opening his mouth to begin what would have been a very long and dreary argument, Molly cut in.

"What can I help you boys with today?"

"Thank you, Molly. We need to look at Victor Carlson's body, if you wouldn't mind. Everybody at the Yard thinks he died of natural causes, but this git here, seems to believe otherwise."

"I told you, the slight yellowing of his skin indicate he was poisoned. His wife murdered him, I know it. She was far too accepting of his death when I spoke with her."

"Anderson would have-"

"Anderson is a moron," Sherlock replied, glaring at the Detective Inspector harshly.

"He's right," Molly cut in again, no longer having qualms about interrupting their little arguments.

"Thank you! You see, I told you-"

"Well, at least he's partially right," she continued, loving the pause Sherlock made after that.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You're only partially right. He was poisoned, but it wasn't murder."

Sherlock took a deep breath, then looked at Molly gently. "Look, I think you may have missed something. It's alright, it happens, but-"

"Actually, I think you missed something," she intoned just as gently, secretly loving how riled this was getting him.

"I missed nothing, Molly! Clearly you were mistaken."

A wicked grin grew on her face. "Oh? So you noticed the empty painkiller bottle in his pocket?"

Sherlock froze, his eyes growing wide.

"And you also noticed that the whites of his eyes were yellowed as well?"

"Well, it was dark at the crime scene, and-"

"But there was no crime. He overdosed on acetaminophen. I checked the contents of his stomach. Whole bottle in there, not to mention the fact that his brain had swelled, and his liver and kidneys had failed."

It was dead silent for several moments. Then, "But the wife-"

"Probably knew her husband was suicidal and wasn't that surprised to find him dead."

"Then why wouldn't she say that?"

"Why would she say that? Why would she willingly admit to strangers that her husband was so miserable he took his own life? Besides, if he killed himself, she doesn't collect the insurance money."

"Well…..but then…."

He fell silent, an adorably, dare she think it, confused look spreading across that lovely face. He looked from her, to the deceased, and back to her. Suddenly, comprehension flashed in his eyes, then something she didn't recognize before he grew completely stiff.

"John, we're leaving. Molly, I'll see you in an hour."

He was gone in seconds, John apologizing in his wake before obediently following. Greg just shook his head.

"That's going to eat him up inside."

"Oh, I know," Molly said with a smirk. "It'll be even more fun when I get home and I can rub it in."

"You know, you kind of miss it behind that innocent face and the kittens and all, but you have a slightly evil side to you."

"Only when it comes to Sherlock," she laughed.

Molly opened the door to 221 Baker Street cautiously later that evening. She assumed Sherlock would be moody after being told he was wrong. She briefly wondered if that had ever happened. She did not, however, expect to be pinned to door the second it closed.

"Sherlock!" she screeched rather unattractively.

"Hmm," he hummed happily against her neck. She could feel every inch of his lithe body pressed against her, sending a flush right to her cheeks. What was with him?

"I-I thought you'd be upset."

"Upset? Now, why would I be upset?" he whispered in her ear, raising the hairs on the back of her neck.

"Oh, you know, the whole scene at the morgue where I said you were wrong."

"Oh, my dear, you didn't say I was wrong. You proved me wrong," he breathed, and she failed to see the difference.

"You brilliant, gorgeous, sexy woman. You know I love it when you deduce things, and this time you even outdid me. I highly doubt it will ever happen again, but I'm quite impressed."

He had pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. Though part of his statement was slightly insulting, she could see in his eyes what he wasn't saying. Pride. He was proud of her.

"Well, I can't live with you and not pick a few things up," she joked.

"Yes, indeed. Now, where were we?"

He then swept her up in a passionate kiss in which she lost herself quickly. His hands ran down her side deliciously, making her shiver. She felt herself being drawn deeper and deeper into a haze. It was only when she found she was being maneuvered toward the bedroom that she came to her senses.

"No! Sherlock, you're still grounded!" She pushed him away abruptly.

"Molly, this is silly, really. I am not a child. In fact, I'll prove it to you right now." He pulled her flush to his body and she could very well feel that he was not a child.

"No, no, no. You don't just get to bat your eyes and get whatever you want. I'm winning this bet."

"Molly!" he whined, ironically rather like a child.

"No. And because I don't trust you not to try something funny tonight, you can sleep in John's old room." His face turned from pouting to enraged.

"What? How is that even fair?" But she was already heading to the bedroom without him.

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

He stared at the closed door in shock and went back to pouting.


End file.
